Eagerly the woodlanders did as they were bid, then they sat with the Loamhedge Brothers and Sisters.

Bella rose and embraced Abbess Germaine. “My old friend, we were many summers younger when last we ate together.”

The Abbess placed a thin, worn paw over Bella’s hoary pad. “Yes, the seasons are born anew, but alas we grow older, my friend.”

“But not you, Germaine,” Bella chuckled. “You look as young as ever. What news of Loamhedge?”

The Abbess could not prevent a tear trickling onto her gray whiskers. “Loamhedge, what magic in that name. But the happy times there are gone like leaves down a stream. You heard of the great sickness?”

Bella nodded. “I had heard something from travelers, but I thought it was far south. I did not think it had found its way to your home.”

Germaine shook and closed her eyes as if trying to ward off the memory. “Only those you see here escaped. It was horrible. Everything it touched withered and died, I could not . . .”

Bella patted the old mouse gently. “There, there, no need to say more. Try to forget it. You can call my home your own, for you and your mice, as long as you like, and please don’t thank me—you’d do exactly the same if I needed shelter. In fact you did, many years ago, when I was young and liked to travel.”

The two old friends went to the kitchen and began preparing the meal. Bella told Germaine of all that had taken place in Mossflower. “This is a sad and oppressed place you have come to, though once it was happy under the rule of my father, Boar the Fighter. I was still young then. I returned from my wanderings with Barkstripe—he was my mate; we met far to the southeast and returned to stay with my father at Brockhall. I think that father was waiting for this to happen. My mother was long ago gone to the gates of Dark Forest; she died when I was a cub. Boar the Fighter was a good father, but a restless spirit. He had tired of ruling Mossflower and wanted to go questing, just as his father, Old Lord Brocktree, did before him. One day he left here and Barkstripe ruled in his stead. Those were good seasons. We had a cub, a little male called Sunflash because of his forestripe, which had an odd golden tinge. He was a sturdy little fellow.

“In the autumn of that year the wildcats arrived. Verdauga and his brood took over that old ruin of a fortress. There was no one to oppose him, and he brought with him a vast horde of wicked vermin. At first we tried to fight back, but they were so cruel and merciless that they completely crushed us. Barkstripe led a great attack upon Kotir, but he was slain, along with many others. Those who did not escape into Mossflower were caught and left to rot in Verdauga’s prisons. Alas, that was all long ago. We have learned to keep ourselves safe here in the thick woodlands now.”